Lock-Up
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: Lyle Bolton, Arkham's new draconian guard, makes life a living hell for all the asylum's inmates, in particular Jonathan Crane. But the tables are turned when Bolton himself is confined after taking on the persona of the supervillain Lock-Up, and has to face the Scarecrow on equal footing. Thanks to Just-Me-and-My-Brain for the suggestion! :-)
1. Chapter 1

**Lock-Up**

The school bell rang, and Jonathan Crane hurried to gather up his books and papers, rushing out of class and over to his locker. He twisted the dial with trembling fingers, unlocking it and grabbing his bag, and then racing out of the school. He ran as fast as he could away from the building and out into the streets of Gotham City, but as he passed an alleyway, he was suddenly seized.

"Where are you going in such a hurry, nerd?" hissed a familiar, unpleasant voice. Crane stared in horror at the boy who had hold of his arm, surrounded by his usual two cronies.

"Richard…how did you…"

"I cut class," snorted the boy, slamming Crane hard into the wall opposite and knocking the breath from his body. "You think you're so clever racing outta school for the past week and hoping to avoid me, but you weren't clever enough to take a different route home, were you, nerd boy? Easy enough to lie in wait for you, genius."

Richard punched Crane in the stomach, knocking him to his knees. "Now we gotta teach you a lesson, Crane," he murmured. "For trying to outsmart me, for trying to avoid the punishment you so justly deserve for being a know-it-all. Unless of course you'd be willing to reconsider my offer."

Crane was shaking in terror, but he glared up at him. "I'm not going to do your tests for you," he growled. "Or your homework. If you're not smart enough to pass high school, that's not my problem."

Richard grinned. "Oh, I think it is, Johnny," he whispered. "Or at least, it will be."

He snapped his fingers, and the two cronies approached them. "Boys, we gotta teach Johnny here a lesson in respect," said Richard, rolling up his sleeves. "For a smart guy, he can be really, really dumb."

Crane felt his nose break on the first punch, and he had no sooner experienced that pain than a punch to the chest made one of his ribs crack. After that, it was just a blur of pain and blows, while Crane tried futilely to curl into a ball to protect himself.

"That's enough," said Richard at last. "I think he gets the message."

He grabbed Crane by the hair, hauling him to his feet. "See you tomorrow, nerd," he said, grinning at him. He then threw him back down on the pavement and sauntered off with his cronies, leaving Crane lying in the alley.

Crane let the tears he had been holding back burst forth as he lay in a heap, not willing or able to get up. After several minutes of sobbing, it started to rain and Crane managed to struggle to his feet, wiping his eyes and trying to control himself. He hobbled out of the alley, leaning heavily against the sides of buildings as he made his way home.

He pushed open the door to his house and collapsed into the nearest chair in the kitchen. His mother entered at that moment, and just looked at him.

"For God's sake, Jonathan!" she snapped. "Not again!"

"I'm afraid I can't help it, Mother," he growled.

"You think it's easy to get bloodstains out of your clothing?" she demanded. "You think I like having to repair all the rips and tears? Do you?"

Crane didn't respond, glaring at his shaking fists. "You must have provoked him in some way," continued his mother. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," he snapped.

"Well, stop doing nothing," she retorted. "Fight back or something, like a man."

Crane bit his lip, clearly trying to control his rage. "Yes, Mother," he muttered.

She sighed. "Go change," she snapped. "We won't tell your father about this, to spare you another lecture. You should be thankful for that. Just try not to disturb him when you go past his study – he's in the middle of some very important research."

"As usual," muttered Crane. He struggled to stand, and failed, collapsing back into the chair.

"For goodness sake, Jonathan – no wonder the bullies pick on you!" snapped his mother. "You make everything so melodramatic! You have to man up! Sometimes people ask for beatings, you know, by being attention-seeking and weird! It's like your father says, and he's a philosophy professor, so he should know! You're a smart boy – just find out what they don't like about you and stop doing it! It's not that hard!"

Crane didn't respond, standing up and managing to head out of the kitchen. He slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor, heading for his room.

"Is that you, Jonathan?" called his father from his study.

"Yes, Father," said Crane.

"Come in here for a moment – I need you to take some dictation."

"I…can't just right now, Father," said Crane.

The door to the study opened and an elderly man with glasses popped his head out. "Can't?" he repeated. "Ah. I see," he said, noticing the state of his son. He nodded inside. "Come in, Jonathan."

Crane obeyed, hobbling into the room that was covered in books, notes, and papers. "Sit down," said his father, gesturing to a chair. He sat across from him, studying his son.

"Why do bullies attack you?" he asked at last.

"Because I'm intelligent," Crane replied. "And different."

"Intelligent, yes," agreed his father. "Different, no. You only think you're different, Jonathan. Truthfully, you're like every other boy your age. Nobody is special, you see – human beings are all very much alike. We all want the same things, and we all go about the same ways of getting them. Individuality is a dangerous myth – animals in the wild have no such mentality. Human civilization shouldn't either, if it's to survive. We must have a herd mentality, and work together for the good of the human race, not worship at the cult of self-aggrandizing madmen. And not encourage this delusion that everyone is special and unique and different. It's terribly damaging, as you know from personal experience," he said, nodding at his son.

Crane was silent. "Father, I don't fit in at school," he said at last. "I've tried, but…I _am_ different from the others. I don't have the same interests or hobbies…"

"Because you haven't tried to cultivate them," interrupted his father.

"I have tried," protested Crane. "I have tried to take an interest in sports and social activities, but…it hasn't done any good. They don't interest me."

"Try harder," retorted his father. "Force yourself to be interested. For your own good. The bullying will stop if you fit in, son. You just need to try harder to do that. And I know you can. Humans are social creatures who naturally try to conform. We all can do it. We all should do it."

Crane said nothing. "How do you feel when you're beaten?" asked his father.

"Afraid," replied Crane. "I feel…afraid."

"Good. Use that fear whenever you interact with people. Remind yourself of the punishment for not fitting in. Fear is an evolutionary asset, a survival mechanism. It protects us from pain. Listen to the fear, use it and embrace it."

"I don't think…it's something I can control," stammered Crane.

"Intelligent people can control anything," said his father, calmly. "And you are an intelligent boy, Jonathan. You can control the fear."

Crane gazed up into his father's eyes. "Yes, Father," he whispered. "Perhaps I can."


	2. Chapter 2

**Thirty Years Later…**

Jonathan Crane fell to the ground, gasping for breath, and felt the guard's stick crack across his spine.

"Stop it! Leave him alone!" shrieked Harley Quinn, who was struggling against the guards who restrained her.

"You just don't get it, do you, Crane?" growled Lyle Bolton, grinding his boot down on Crane's spine as he leaned over him, twirling his stick. "You're not special, you got that? You're just a sick, insane freak, and you're locked in this dump until you die! No point in trying to escape – I ain't gonna let you! I ain't gonna let none of you outta here ever again! You're all gonna rot in here forever for your crimes!"

The stick slammed across Crane's face. "You think you're such a genius, but you must be a real idiot not to get that," growled Bolton. He turned to go. "Lock him back in his cell, and clean up the blood," he muttered. "The doctors are doing their rounds later, and this place has gotta look its best for them."

The moment Bolton disappeared, Harley slammed her elbow back into the face of one of the men holding her, and kicked back at the other man, hitting him in the groin. They both released her, and she raced over to Crane, helping him up.

"Johnny, are you ok?" she whispered.

"I'm fine, my dear," he murmured, struggling onto his hands and knees. "I'm used to beatings, believe me."

"Well, so am I, from Mr. J, but I don't like 'em if they're not from the guy I love," said Harley, forcing a smile as she helped him stand. "C'mon, lean on me…"

"Mr. Bolton wants you both confined immediately in your separate cells," growled one of the guards.

"You wanna take me, pal?" snapped Harley. "I'll go to my separate cell once I see that Johnny's all right in his! It's the least I can do after he took a beating for me."

"I think Mr. Bolton was happy to exchange you for me," said Crane with a wry smile. "There's something he particularly dislikes about me."

"Maybe it's the fact that you're a sweetheart, and he's a total jerk," growled Harley. "God, I wish Mr. J was back here – he'd teach him a lesson about treating us like this!"

"Yes, I wish he were back too," agreed Crane, but that was more for his personal gratification at seeing the Joker beaten to a bloody pulp by Arkham's new draconian guard.

Lyle Bolton had become Head of Security at Arkham Asylum three months ago, and since then, he had ruled with an iron fist. Even the other guards were scared of disobeying him and facing his wrath, and he was absolutely merciless to the inmates. His attitude toward them was one of pure hatred and contempt, and the feeling was mutual. He constantly derided them as criminal scum who had to be kept in line, and he put this into practice whenever he could, chaining the inmates down at night and electrifying their doors. He said they deserved to be beaten to within an inch of their misbegotten lives. And whenever he could find a reason (and Bolton was good at finding reasons), he punished the inmates by doing just that.

That morning, during Bolton's daily cell inspection, Harley Quinn had forgotten to make her bed. Bolton had dragged her into the corridor to take her beating right there when Crane had grabbed his bar of soap and thrown it straight at Bolton's head, diverting his attention from Harley onto Crane.

"I can't thank you enough, Johnny," said Harley, as she helped him sit down on his bed.

"It was nothing, my dear – just what any decent man would do," replied Crane.

The Ventriloquist was dragged into the cell block at that moment, cradling Scarface and shushing him gently. "Arnie, what happened?" asked Harley, racing to the bars of the cell.

"Mr…Mr. Bolton didn't think I'd scrubbed my floor hard enough," murmured the Ventriloquist. "So he took Mr. Scarface, and he…he…"

"He held me over a can filled with termites!" shouted Scarface. "Termites! I saw my life flashing before my eyes – I was a tree, and then a little block of wood again, and I couldn't scream – it was awful!"

Harley bit her lip. "God, I wish Mr. J was back!" she sobbed. "He wouldn't tolerate this crap! He'd fix Bolton good, he'd…"

She trailed off, sobbing. "I've…I've tried to write to him for help, but I dunno where he is now!" she cried. "But he's gotta come back and save us! He's just gotta!"

"Scum! In your cells! Now!" roared Bolton, entering the corridor at that moment. "Doctors are coming!"

He grabbed Harley's arm. "Separate cells, sweetheart," he growled. "Or do you want me to give you that beating after all?"

"I could take it," snapped Harley. "You ain't nothing compared to Mr. J – you're half the man he is!"

Bolton smiled, and then wrenched Harley out of Crane's cell by her arm. He shoved her into hers, and then slammed the door on her arm, so that she shrieked in pain.

"I'm ten times the man that disgusting criminal freak is, sweetheart!" he hissed. "And when that giggling maniac gets dragged back here, I'm gonna wipe the smile off that ugly face, you just wait and see! That hideous, babbling psychopath is sick - you're all sick, that's why you're locked up in here! And you're gonna stay locked up in here for the rest of your worthless lives, or my name ain't Lyle Bolton!"

"Stop it, Bolton, leave her alone!" shouted Crane rushing to the bars, as Bolton pressed the door shut on Harley's arm.

He released it suddenly, and Harley fell the ground, clutching her arm. Bolton slammed and locked the door, and then cracked his stick against Crane's hands on the bars. "Don't try to be a hero again, Professor," he growled. "You ain't. You ain't nothing but a filthy piece of criminal scum."

Harley massaged her arm, sobbing quietly as Crane sat down gingerly on his bed, every fiber in his body aching.

"Mr. Bolton, I trust everything is in order in the cell block," said Dr. Leland, head of Arkham Asylum, entering suddenly.

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed. "All in perfect order, ma'am."

Dr. Leland looked from Harley to Crane. "Jonathan, what happened to you?" she asked, concerned. "You're covered in bruises!"

Crane glared up at Bolton, who stood behind Dr. Leland, smiling threateningly at him. "I…fell," he stammered.

"And Harley, what's wrong with your arm?" asked Dr. Leland.

"I…uh…slept on it funny," Harley murmured.

Dr. Leland turned back to Crane, studying his bruises suspiciously. "Are you sure you fell, Jonathan?"

"Quite sure, Dr. Leland, yes," he muttered. "I was very clumsy."

"O…K," said Dr. Leland, slowly. "Try to be more careful in the future, please."

"Yes, Dr. Leland, I will," he said.

"Yes, Professor Crane," said Bolton, smiling. "Do try to be more careful in the future."

"Yes…Mr. Bolton," hissed Crane.

Dr. Leland frowned, heading out of the cell block. She had a sneaking suspicion that Mr. Bolton was the one inflicting pain on the inmates, but she had no proof of that – none of them would confess. And she didn't have the power to suspend a man without good reason, especially a man who had come personally recommended by Mr. Bruce Wayne.

But there was something she didn't trust about Mr. Bolton. Something nasty in his eyes, that she had seen in the eyes of some of the lunatics – a burning obsession, a kind of zealous fanaticism which, sooner or later, would always lead to trouble.


	3. Chapter 3

A few nights later, the guards who had been chaining Jonathan Crane down for the night left his cell, electrifying his door on their way out. He waited until he heard the door to the cell block slam, and then removed the pillow he had been hiding under his uniform, making the chains go slack against his body and giving him extra room to shimmy out of their confines. It was the first time in his life that he was grateful for being as skinny as he was, he though wryly, as he stood up in his cell.

Then he reached under his bed, pulling out a long series of plastic straws all stuck together. He had been purloining them from the cafeteria for some time, and now he edged the straws between the bars of his cell and down to the end of the corridor where the circuits which controlled the electricity on the cell doors were located.

He made sure the straw touched them, and then bent over his sink, taking a gulp of water into his mouth and then slowly blowing it out through the straws. The water leaked into the circuits and they fizzled, and then exploded with a pop, sending soft spirals of smoke up into the air.

Next Crane bent down, twisting out a wire from his bed and twisting it into the lock on his cell. He heard the clicking of the lock, and then a snap as it gave way, opening the door.

He crept carefully down the corridor, passing his fellow sleeping and chained inmates. He paused in front of Harley's cell – she looked so beautiful and innocent in sleep, like an angel, and he knew he didn't have the heart to abandon her here in this hellish prison.

He twisted the wire into the lock on her cell, picking it open, and then crept quietly inside. He put a hand over her mouth, stifling her cry as she woke up, and then put his finger to his lips as he twisted the wire into the lock on her chains, releasing her. "Johnny, what are you doing?" she whispered.

"Escaping," he muttered. "And you're coming with me."

"How?" she asked, following him out into the cell block. "Bolton's got this place locked up tighter than a clam with lockjaw."

"Yes, and Mr. Bolton left for home approximately half an hour ago," muttered Crane. "The rest of the guards shouldn't be a problem."

He took her hand. "You stay with me whatever happens," he said, firmly. "This could get chaotic."

He fanned the still emanating spirals of smoke towards the fire alarm, until it suddenly went off with a high pitched beeping. Crane pulled Harley into the shadows as the door banged open and the guards rushed in to see what had set off the alarm.

"Hurry," Crane whispered, racing out the cell block door which they had left open. "It might not take them long to notice we're missing."

It didn't. By the time they had reached the front doors to the asylum, another alarm blared along with the fire alarm, the alarm indicating an escaped patient.

"Find them or Mr. Bolton will have our guts for garters!" shouted a guard as Crane and Harley burst out of the asylum, racing across the grounds and avoiding the searchlights which hunted them.

They reached the wall that separated the asylum from the rest of the world, and Crane's plan became a bit more improvisational, as he looked around desperately for some kind of foothold in order to climb over it.

"Stand back, Johnny," said Harley. He obeyed, and she took a running jump at the wall, doing a handspring and leaping on top of it. Crane stared at her, open-mouthed, as she twisted her feet into the vines that clung to the other side, and then dangled down, holding out her hands to him.

He grabbed on as she struggled to pull them both up. Once Crane's arm was over, he grabbed onto the same vine and pulled himself the rest of the way, while Harley leaped down to the ground.

"You're lucky you don't weigh much," she said, beaming at him as he landed next to her.

"It's the second time tonight I've been grateful for my build," he agreed. "But then a man as burly as Mr. Bolton probably doesn't account for the particular advantages of being slim and weak. He doesn't think about people escaping with brains or stealth, only by force. And thank goodness for that."

"C'mon," said Harley, taking his hand again. "We gotta find Mr. J."

"Oh," said Crane. "Why?"

"Because I miss him," she replied. "I ain't seen him in weeks, and I dunno where he's hiding. And I could use your help finding him - a guy as smart as you is bound to be able to figure out where he is. Please, Johnny?" she said, gazing at him with pleading eyes. "For me?"

Crane sighed. "Yes, all right," he muttered. "But we're stopping off at my hideout first. I'm not meeting the Joker unarmed."

"Aw, Mr. J wouldn't hurt you, Johnny, not after you helped me escape," said Harley, smiling at him. "He's gonna be so happy to see me, and he's gonna be so grateful to you for bringing his Harley girl back to him. He's just gonna be over the moon, you'll see."

Crane sighed again. He didn't know if it was strictly an improvement, escaping the clutches of a madman like Lyle Bolton only to head voluntarily into the clutches of a madman like the Joker. He honestly didn't know who was the lesser of two evils.


	4. Chapter 4

The Joker awoke to someone licking his face. "Mmm…get off, Harley!" he muttered, trying to shove the person off him. The person, who turned out to be a hyena, he realized as he opened his eyes. "Ugh, I thought Harley had particularly bad breath this morning," he said, making a face and wiping the slobber off his mouth as he sat up. The hyena called Lou barked at him, wagging his tail as his brother Bud lay napping on the pillow next to Joker, which still smelled of Harley.

"What time is it?" he muttered, reaching for the clown clock on the nightstand. "6 AM?!" he roared. "Why the hell are you boys waking me up at 6 AM?! Is the building on fire?!"

Lou barked again, waking Bud, who yawned and stretched, looking around forlornly for the person whose scent was on the pillow.

"Aw, you always need to go out!" muttered Joker, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Harley spoiled you with all these walks and games and expressions of affection! You're as needy as she is!"

He stood up, stretching, and looked around for his pants. The floor was covered in toys, wrinkled clothes, and discarded scraps of food. "Aw, the hell with it," he muttered, leaving the bedroom just wearing his boxers and undershirt. He opened the back door and the hyenas raced out into the darkness. Joker left them to it, fording his way through the trash covered floors into the kitchen. Weeks old food clung to pots and pans stacked in the sink, and Joker rinsed out an already used mug, reaching for the almost empty instant coffee jar.

He dug out the last few clumps with a dirty spoon, and then poured hot water from the sink onto it, stirring it around. He cleared off the pizza and takeaway boxes on the table, scattering them to the already impressive pile on the floor with a sweep of his arm.

The hyenas padded into the room as Joker sipped his coffee, nuzzling him affectionately. "I know what you're thinking, boys," he muttered, petting them. "Your Daddy is displaying all the classic signs of a guy who's depressed. Well, I ain't depressed, just lazy," he muttered, looking around. "So lazy that I ain't cleaned up, or got dressed, or even had a good scheme for the Bat in weeks. And you know why?"

The hyenas shared a look, and then Bud disappeared, reappearing with Harley's pillow clamped in its teeth. Lou yipped, nuzzling it.

"No, that ain't it!" snapped Joker. "She ain't got nothing to do with this! I'm glad she ain't here yammering at me or nagging me or clinging onto me! Couldn't be happier about that! No, it's the Bat," he muttered, glaring at the calendar on the wall, where a date had been circled, accompanied by a picture of a smiling Batman. Which had been violently crossed out, stabbed with knives, and had the words _Die, Bats, die! _scribbled over it.

"Twelve years, boys," he muttered. "Twelve years we've been battling together, night after night. You think you know a guy after that long. You think you know a guy who's beat the crap outta you more times than you can count. But you don't know 'em. He takes the best years of your life, and then he goes, off on some new adventure with his special little superhero pals."

He sipped his coffee again, and then grabbed a bottle of whiskey, pouring it in. "Well, who needs him?" he muttered. "I don't care that he skipped our anniversary to play hero somewhere else with the Superfreak and the Wonderbra Woman and the Gay Lantern and whoever else he's got in that freak show of his. See if I care!"

The hyenas shared another look. "I mean, you think you're the most important thing in a guy's life, boys, but you ain't!" he shouted. "You ain't! You give 'em everything, jokes, gags, games, top notch entertainment night after night, and it's still not enough! He just uses you to be the hero Gotham deserves, and then goes off to be a hero somewhere else, throwing you aside like a used whoopie cushion, discarded and deflated!"

Bud and Lou began licking his hand, trying to cheer him up. "It's no good, boys," he muttered. "This face ain't getting a smile on it again for a very long time. And from now on, no more Batman, you hear me? Even if he comes crawling back to Gotham, begging me on his knees to come up with a zany caper that he can foil, I ain't gonna do it. That'll teach him to play with the Joker for fun and then just dump him," he muttered, gulping down more spiked coffee.

There was a knock on the door, and Joker slammed the mug down. "Who the hell could that be at this hour?" he demanded.

He opened the door, and his face fell. "Aw crap, not you," he muttered.

"Mr. J!" screamed Harley Quinn, leaping into his arms and covering him with kisses. "Oh, puddin', I missed you so much!"

"Yeah, yeah, get off, you needy broad!" he snapped, shoving her away. "This is what I get for thinking things can't get any worse!"

Bud and Lou leaped on Harley, wagging their tails and barking happily as they licked her wildly. "Hello, babies!" she cooed, petting them. "Oh, Mommy missed you, yes, she did!"

"How did you even find me, you little brat?" he demanded. "I thought you were locked up in Arkham."

"You've got Johnny here to thank for bringing me home to you safe and sound," said Harley, smiling at him as she pulled him into the room, dressed in his usual Scarecrow costume. "He was the one who spotted the babies wandering the streets – it was pretty easy to follow them home."

"Gee, thanks, Professor," muttered Joker. And then he brightened. "But since Johnny's here, I should be giving you the welcome you deserve, pumpkin pie!" he purred, pulling Harley into his arms and kissing her tenderly. "I missed my pretty little Harley baby so much, yes, I did!"

"Oh, puddin'!" gasped Harley, delighted, as she returned his kisses. Crane rolled his eyes – Joker had a habit of being over-affectionate with Harley whenever he was around. He assumed it was some cruel joke of his to remind him of his loneliness and make him jealous.

"Mmm, what kept you away from me for so long, baby?" murmured Joker, stroking her hair back. "You know Daddy J gets restless if he can't ride his Harley regularly."

"It ain't my fault, Mr. J," said Harley. "It's this new nightmare Head of Security guy at Arkham, Lyle Bolton. He's an animal!"

"She says that about me a lot, but in that case she's referring to how good I am in bed," explained Joker, smiling at Crane. "With our wild and crazy acrobatic sex acts. Which I certainly hope ain't what she means in relation to this Bolton fellow!" he chuckled.

"No, although in terms of love of pain and random cruelty, you and Mr. Bolton are rather similar," agreed Crane. "He runs a tight ship at Arkham now – the place is virtually inescapable."

"But Johnny's a genius, so he figured out a way to get us outta there," said Harley, beaming at him. "Which I owe him forever for. And he's right – this Bolton guy ain't no joke. Look what he did to my arm, puddin'," she said, rolling up her sleeve to show him the dark bruise.

"Aw, my poor widdle Harley baby!" cooed Joker, bending down to kiss it. "Let Daddy kiss your boo boo."

"He's a horribly unpleasant man," continued Crane. "He threatens us, and takes away our privileges even when we're good. He says scum like us must be kept in line, so he chains us down at night and electrifies our doors."

"And he held Scarface over a can of termites," said Harley. "He says criminal scum like us should be beaten to within an inch of our misbegotten lives."

"Sounds like Batsy!" chuckled Joker. He frowned. "Hey, Batsy ain't been around for weeks – do you think his secret identity is this Bolton guy, and he's just gone back to doing what he loves best without the cape and the mask?"

"A good theory, but unfortunately Batman brought the Ventriloquist back a few weeks ago in Mr. Bolton's presence," retorted Crane. "We very nearly ran into Batman tonight, actually - we spotted him patrolling the rooftops before we spotted the hyenas."

"He's back?" asked Joker hopefully, his eyes shining. And then his face fell again. "Well, I don't care if he is," he sniffed. "I'm giving him the cold shoulder, just like he gave to me for weeks on end. Maybe I got better things to do with my time than fight him too."

"Like what?" asked Crane.

"Like Harley!" chuckled Joker. "C'mon, pooh, you want a nice, hard revving to make up for all the time we've lost!"

"I sure do, Mr…" began Harley, but it was at that moment that she noticed the mess all over the floor. "What happened in here?" she asked. "It's like a dirt bomb went off! Have you and the babies been living in filth in my absence?"

"Not filth, pooh, just…casual grime," said Joker.

"You can get all kindsa diseases from dirty houses, y'know," she said. "And where are your pants?" she asked, noticing he was wearing just his boxers and undershirt.

He shrugged. "Around here somewhere. Anyway, when have you ever minded me without pants?"

"When we got company," she retorted, gesturing to Crane. "Honestly, puddin', you big baby!" she said, kissing Joker's nose. "You're absolutely helpless without me, ain't ya? C'mon, let's tidy this place up before we do anything else," she said, bending down and starting to gather up the trash, with the hyenas nuzzling her.

"Well, at least the kid's good for something!" chuckled Joker, smiling at Crane.

"If you really profess not to love Harley, and you're just keeping her around for housework, you know you're essentially prostituting yourself for cleaning," said Crane.

"Yep, that's what I'm doing!" chuckled Joker.

"There's a kind of irony in that, I suppose," said Crane.

"Oh yeah, she does the ironing too," agreed Joker. "Dishes, laundry, anything you need, really."

"Irony, not ironing," repeated Crane. "In that you're sullying yourself for cleaning…"

"I think you're just jealous that nobody wants you to sully yourself for cleaning," retorted Joker. "Anyway, thanks for dropping the kid off, Professor, but we got things to do in private, y'know," he chuckled, shoving him toward the door. "I'd let you stay and watch, but you'd be insecure in your manhood forever if you saw me in action, trust me. Good seeing you – stop by anytime! And of course I'm just joking when I say that!" he chuckled, slamming the door in his face.

Crane sighed, making his way back to his hideout. "Well, look on the bright side," he said to himself. "At least I'm free of that horrible place, and away from Mr. Bolton for a good long while. All I have to do now is lay low and not engage in any criminal activity, and that shouldn't be a problem. I'll do some reading and research, maybe stop by and see Jervis and have a few cups of tea."

He breathed in the night air with a grateful sigh. "For once in my otherwise unfortunate existence, things are going my way," he murmured, smiling. "Life is good."

And then a dark figure landed on top of him, crushing his spine again. His worst fears were realized when he looked up into the stony face of Batman, who suddenly struck him a powerful blow to the face, and knocked him unconscious.


	5. Chapter 5

"_Just say it, Crane!" roared Richard, kicking Jonathan Crane as he lay in a heap. "I wanna hear you beg!"_

"_Richard, please!" sobbed Crane. "Please, stop! I'll do anything you want!"_

"_That's what I wanted to hear, nerd," said Richard, smiling triumphantly. "So here's how this is gonna work," he said, pulling him up by his hair. "I'm gonna pass you my homework after school, and you're gonna give it to me first thing the next morning. When I have tests to do, you're gonna sit around me in class and then write the answers down on a piece of paper and slide them over to me. If I don't get 90s or better on every thing you do for me, I'm gonna beat you some more. Deal?"_

"_Yes, fine," gasped Crane. "Whatever you want! Only please don't hurt me anymore!"_

_Richard snorted. "You're pathetic, Crane," he muttered, throwing him down again. "Begging and crying like a girl. Your old man should have belted you hard like mine did, to toughen you up. Nobody likes a pathetic weakling, y'know, and nobody ever will. And that's all you are, Crane. A pathetic weakling."_

_Richard's face suddenly transformed into the cold, hard one of Lyle Bolton, who towered over him, a huge shadow blocking out every inch of light. "And you'll be locked up for the rest of your miserable life! You're gonna rot in here forever for your crimes! Locked up in a cage without a key!"_

Crane regained consciousness at that moment, to find himself tied up in the back of the Batmobile. His face ached from where he had been punched, and he could feel a black eye forming, but he knew that was nothing compared to what awaited him when they returned him to Arkham.

"Batman," he said, quietly. "You have to let me go. Please."

"Boy, that's a new one," said Robin, who sat in the passenger seat. "A crook thinking that if he asks nicely, we'll let him back out on the streets. Didn't figure you for a comedian, Crane."

"I wasn't intending to go back on the streets," protested Crane. "I was only dressed this way because Harley and I were going to find the Joker, and I didn't want to find him without the supply of fear gas I keep in my Scarecrow costume just in case of an emergency. I mean, it doesn't affect his mind per se, he's too crazy, but I could always try to temporarily blind him with it in order to make my escape…"

"You should stop talking," interrupted Batman. "You're going back where you belong, and nothing you say will convince me otherwise."

"But…but you don't know what it's like at Arkham now!" cried Crane. "It's a living hell! A nightmare!"

"Thought you loved nightmares, Mr. God of Fear," snorted Robin.

"Shut up, brat!" snapped Crane. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Hey, I'm not the crazy one in this car," retorted Robin with a smirk.

"You're both worse than crazy!" hissed Crane. "You're evil if you don't listen to what I'm saying and instead take me back to that horrible place! You don't know what he's going to do to me! He's going to make an example of me – nobody has ever escaped his clutches, and he'll see to it that nobody does again!"

He saw the asylum looming up ahead, like a faceless, giant shadow, and watched as the gates closed behind the Batmobile, securing them inside. And the sheer terror that he had managed to hold back thus far back came bursting forth in a flood of begging and pleading, as Crane felt himself become once again that young boy terrified of bullies, a gibbering, pleading wreck.

Batman ignored him, dragging him out of the car and into the asylum. And there at the top of the stairs stood Lyle Bolton, waiting for him, his face stern and resolute, and his eyes glimmering with a cruel, gleeful delight at seeing Crane again. He swore to Batman that he wouldn't let him and the people of Gotham City down again, and then dragged Crane into the asylum, slamming the door and locking it.

"You must be pretty proud of yourself," muttered Bolton, turning to face Crane as he slowly beat his nightstick into his open hand. "You must think you're pretty clever. A real genius, to have broken out under my watch. But now you're back where you belong, and you're not getting outta here again. Not under my watch."

He slammed the nightstick hard across Crane's face suddenly, and then kicked him to the ground. "Where's the clown's slut?!" he roared.

"I won't tell you," gasped Crane, trying desperately to control his terror.

"Oh yes, you will," growled Bolton. He kicked him hard in the face. "You're gonna do whatever I want, Crane. I'm gonna see to that."

He kicked him again in the chest, cracking some ribs. Crane screamed in pain and began crying, the fear and terror and agony completely overriding all reason.

"Look at you, you pathetic excuse for a man," growled Bolton. "You little weakling! Were you hoping the clown's slut would be so grateful to you, for taking her beatings and busting her outta here, that she'd dump the clown for you?! Is that what you thought?!"

Bolton kicked at him again, and the cracked ribs snapped. The pain was absolutely unbearable, and Crane just lay there, sobbing and crying.

"It's a good thing she can't see you now," continued Bolton, beating him hard with the nightstick. "Nobody would want a whimpering, sniveling little creep like you. But if you tell me where she is, I'll make the pain stop, at least for now."

He stopped beating him, drawing away and waiting for a response. Blood was pouring from Crane's face and collecting in a pool on the ground below him as he lay there, shaking.

"Where is she?" pressed Bolton, kneeling down next to him.

Crane forced his head up to meet Bolton's eyes. "Go…to…hell!" he hissed.

Bolton shrugged. "All right. I tried to be nice. But have it your way, Professor."

His boot collided hard with Crane's face, blissfully relieving him of pain and consciousness, at least for now.


	6. Chapter 6

Crane's torment lasted. He was beaten publicly in front of the other inmates, so Bolton could illustrate the penalty for trying to escape, and the days blended together in an agony of pain and blood. Until one morning, when he woke up to a very familiar voice.

"You just had to fight Batman, didn't you, you selfish bastard?!" shrieked Harley Quinn as she was dragged down the hall, struggling to attack the Joker, who had clearly just come from a brawl with the Caped Crusader. "You just had to get us both dragged back here, even though I told you how terrified I was to go back!"

"Harley…what are you doing here?" gasped Crane, managing to struggle up from his bed.

"My dumb jerk of a boyfriend offered to take me out for a date, which turned out to be code for battling Batman!" screamed Harley, still glaring at Joker. "Because that's the only person he really wants to take on a date!"

"Oh, don't pretend you didn't enjoy it, you dumb blonde!" snapped Joker. "You must have been missing Bats as much as I have – who wouldn't?"

Harley was about to respond caustically when she suddenly noticed the state of Crane. "Oh my God, Johnny, what happened?" she gasped, rushing over to the bars of his cell.

"Mr. Bolton," muttered Crane. "Who else? He was very angry that I managed to escape, and so now he's making an example of me."

"It's horrible!" she gasped, tears in her eyes. "Oh Johnny, I'm so sorry!"

She reached through the bars and took his hand, caressing the wounded knuckles gently, and Crane closed his eyes. "It's…almost worth it," he whispered.

The door to the cell block banged open again, and the guards restraining Harley snapped back to attention, ripping her away from Crane and bringing her over to stand next to the guards holding Joker. Mr. Lyle Bolton approached them, smiling coldly.

"Get lost," he growled to the guards, who released Harley and Joker and quickly obeyed, rushing from the cell block. Harley instantly cowered behind Joker, shaking in terror.

"So this is the clown," murmured Bolton, tapping his nightstick into his palm again. "I've heard so much about you."

"Likewise," retorted Joker, smiling at Bolton. "I hear you're a no-nonsense kinda guy."

"That's right, I am," replied Bolton, nodding. "Ain't got a funny bone in my body. Now get into your cell."

Joker grinned. "I make it a rule of mine never to do anything no-nonsense people say," he replied. "You can't trust them. So no, sport, I don't think I will get into my cell."

All eyes were on the standoff, and nobody moved or even breathed as Joker and Bolton stared each other down. Then Bolton's eyes drifted over to Harley, and he suddenly seized her arm, dragging her out from behind Joker with a shriek. He raised his nightstick and aimed for her face, when Joker suddenly stepped in between them, raising his arm to counter the blow.

"You don't hurt her," Joker hissed, glaring at Bolton through gritted teeth. "Nobody hurts her but me."

"Then get into your cell," growled Bolton. "Or I'll beat the little slut to within an inch of her miserable life!"

Joker stared back at him coldly. "Try," he murmured.

Bolton shrugged, raising his nightstick again. And Joker kicked him in the groin.

Bolton gasped, falling backward. "Oops, sorry, didn't I warn you I fight dirty?" chuckled Joker. "My bad!"

He punched Bolton in the face, knocking him backward. With a roar, Bolton rushed at him, striking at him with his stick. Joker ducked, dodging the blow, and then hit Bolton with an uppercut that sent him staggering back again. Bolton charged forward, stick raised, and Joker suddenly seized it, turning his back to Bolton and then using the stick as a lever to flip Bolton over his shoulder. He lay winded on the ground while Joker stood over him, smiling.

"Believe me, pal, if I can fight Batsy, I can take you!" he chuckled.

Bolton growled, struggling to his feet. "Guards!" he shouted. "Get in here!"

Four guards rushed into the cell block immediately. "Put the clowns in their cells," growled Bolton, storming from the cell block without another word.

A cheer erupted from all the inmates as Harley cuddled into Joker's arms. "My hero!" she purred, kissing him.

Crane was the only one not cheering Joker as the guards led him into his cell. He just glared at him. He supposed he should be pleased that Bolton had got a taste of his own medicine at last, but really he was just angry at Joker for bringing Harley back into the lion's den after Crane had gone to such desperate lengths to protect her. But then obviously since the Joker was here, he could protect her now, Crane thought with some annoyance. Secretly he hoped Bolton was plotting some sort of terrible revenge on Joker, and that the two brutes would somehow destroy each other. A man could dream, he thought wistfully, gingerly lying back down in bed.

But a slightly different dream came true for Crane a mere three days later. He was informed that he, Harley, and the Ventriloquist would be needed to give testimony at an informal hearing over Bolton's methods, organized by Bruce Wayne. Unfortunately, Bolton himself was sitting there when they were asked to testify, and so neither of them spoke out against his abuse. Until Mr. Wayne suggested that Bolton's contract be extended another eighteen months.

And then they all began speaking at once, testifying to the hundreds of abuses and humiliations they had suffered at his hands, their desperation overcoming their fear. And that's when Lyle Bolton had shown his true colors.

He began attacking the guards who tried to restrain him and kicking over tables, his face twisted in blind rage as he tried to get to the inmates and beat them into submission. He was eventually subdued by being tripped up by Bruce Wayne, before being tackled and forcibly removed, screaming about how the symptoms and the causes of rampant crime should all be locked up in a cage without a key. Dr. Leland dismissed him from his post on the spot, and despite the terror they had all suffered, Crane was immeasurably relieved that that was the last he would ever see of Lyle Bolton.


	7. Chapter 7

**Six Months Later**

"Red, you're back!" cried Harley Quinn, leaping to her feet as Poison Ivy was deposited by the guards into the Rec Room of Arkham Asylum, closely followed by Two-Face.

"Hi, Harley," said Ivy, hugging her. "At least there's one good thing about being back in this dump."

"Pammie, where have you been?" chuckled Joker. "You missed all the excitement a few months ago!"

"Excitement ain't the word, Mr. J," retorted Harley. "Terror is more like it."

"I was on vacation," said Ivy. "Catching some sun in the Bahamas."

"I was also on vacation," said Two-Face. "In a completely different location, of course."

"And I'm guessing somebody got lucky on their vacation!" giggled Joker.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response, J," retorted Ivy. Joker shrugged, catching Two-Face's eye, who gave him two thumbs up. Ivy turned to glare at him.

The door opened again and Edward Nygma was shoved inside. "Oooh, another vacation goer?" chuckled Joker. "Threesome, was it?"

"God, no!" shouted Ivy. "Harvey would refuse to have anything to do with it involving more than two people, and I certainly wouldn't stoop so low as to experiment with Nygma! Not that Harvey and I were on vacation together, or that he was anywhere near me on vacation…"

"I wasn't on vacation, I was devising a series of carefully constructed conundrums," explained Nygma.

"And Batman obviously figured 'em out, seeing as how you're back here and all," said Joker, smiling.

"I said carefully constructed conundrums, not perfectly constructed conundrums," snapped Nygma, heading over to the sofa and picking up the newspaper. He frowned at the headline.

"Riddle me this: who on earth is Lyle Bolton?"

Jonathan Crane had been reading a book in the corner, ignoring everyone, but he dropped the book suddenly at the name, his face twisting in horror. "What…what about Lyle Bolton?" he whispered.

"Gimme that!" snapped Joker, grabbing the paper out of Nygma's hands. He scanned the front page and beamed. "Well, look who's coming back to play, Johnny! It's your old pal!"

"Give me that!" snapped Crane, ripping the paper from the Joker's hands.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" retorted Nygma, glaring at Joker. Crane ignored them, reading the article with mounting horror:

_Lyle Bolton, former chief of security at Arkham Asylum, had his mental competency hearing today after being arrested by Batman for a series of kidnappings he perpetrated as the self-proclaimed vigilante known as "Lock-Up." Mr. Bolton insisted that his actions were just, and that his crusade against, in his own words, "the gutless police, mindless bureaucrats, coddling doctors, and the permissive liberal media," was anything but over. The committee unanimously ruled against mental competency, and Mr. Bolton will shortly be transferred to Arkham Asylum, the very institution he used to guard, to complete an intensive series of therapy and treatments. Mr. Bolton had no comment on the judgment, merely repeating his words of six months ago, when he was dismissed from his post at Arkham: "This city is an open wound begging to be stitched." It is only hoped that under the fine care of the doctors at Arkham, Mr. Bolton will make a speedy recovery._

"He's…he's coming back!" gasped Crane, as horrific flashbacks to Bolton's torture crowded his brain. "He's coming back!"

"Yeah, as an inmate!" snapped Joker, grabbing the paper back from him. "So it'll be a laugh riot, Johnny! I mean, I was never scared of him in the first place, but he's one of us now! Completely in our power!"

"I agree with Johnny – I don't really wanna see his face again," said Harley, shuddering. "You don't know what he did to us before you came back, puddin'."

"Aw, don't be scared, pumpkin pie!" cooed Joker, patting her head. "Daddy will protect you from the mean old Lock-Up! I, for one, intend to give him the welcome he deserves – complete humiliation!" he chuckled.

"You know, you're right, Joker," murmured Crane, thoughtfully. "He has no power now. He's in our power. Think of what we could do to him, what torments and terrors we could inflict!"

"What, you wanna make him your bitch?" asked Joker.

"What?! No!" shouted Crane. "Why would you think I meant that?!"

"Hey, with Hatty not here at the moment, I just thought you might be lonely," said Joker, shrugging.

"That can be your plan for him," retorted Crane.

"Nah, I already got a bitch," said Joker, shrugging. He whistled. "Hey, Harley, I spilled some soup on my uniform earlier. Come over here and lick it off."

"Sure thing, puddin'," said Harley, bouncing over to him. She took a seat in his lap and then began licking his shirt.

"Ok, to distract myself from being sick watching that," growled Ivy, grabbing the paper away. "Will somebody please explain who this Bolton is? Wow, he's buff!" she exclaimed, gazing at the picture.

"Gimme that!" growled Two-Face, snatching it away. "Yeah, he's got a real psycho look in his eyes," he agreed.

"And you of all people know psycho is my type," retorted Ivy, snatching the paper back from him.

"I wouldn't try anything with him if I were you, Pamela," said Crane. "He's a horribly cruel and heartless individual who used to beat us to within an inch of our lives."

Ivy frowned. "Well, I do like a man who likes discipline. But mostly who likes to receive it."

"Johnny, I wanna challenge you to a little contest," said Joker, smiling at him. "We both do our best to play our own type of pranks on this Bolton guy, and whoever breaks him wins."

"Define breaks him," said Crane.

Joker shrugged. "Turns him into a gibbering wreck. Begging and crying like a little girl. The usual end result of my kinda fun on people."

Crane considered for only a moment. "All right, you're on," he said. "Do we have any rules?"

"Rules are for squares," retorted Joker. "And all's fair in love and revenge."

"And what do we win?" asked Crane.

"Uh, hello!" said Joker, rolling his eyes. "We win the fun of seeing Bolton turned into a pathetic loser! And we let everyone know who did it, proving who the real master of inflicting pain and suffering in Arkham is. Not that everyone doesn't know that already!" he chuckled.

Crane nodded. "Very well. I accept your terms. I'm off to devise a strategy," he said, heading for the door.

Joker chuckled. "Strategies are for squares too. The real geniuses like me can just improvise. Which gives me more time to play with my Harley doll," he cooed, kissing her.

Crane passed Nygma on his way to the door, who muttered under his breath, "A real genius wouldn't even waste time with some pathetic whore."

Crane paused, turning to face him. "Apologize for calling her that," he said, quietly.

"What?" said Nygma, looking up at him. "Why should I? She didn't even hear me."

"I did," retorted Crane. "So apologize for calling her that."

Nygma snorted. "Why? What are you going to do to me?"

In response, Crane punched him in the face. Nygma reeled back, but recovered quickly, hitting back with his own punch. Soon the two were in the middle of a fight, but it was a fight only in the loosest sense of that word, since neither of the men were particularly skilled at it.

"My money's on Johnny," said Two-Face, as the others watched the kicking, hair pulling, and head locking.

"I'll take that bet," said Joker, nodding. "Fifty bucks on Nygma."

"Nah, Johnny for sure," agreed Ivy, as the fight moved to wrestling on the ground. "I think he's at least seen people fight before."

In the end, nobody won – the guards came in and dragged them both off to their separate cells. Crane nursed his swollen jaw with one hand, and with the other he furiously made notes for his scheme to break Lyle Bolton once and for all.


	8. Chapter 8

Lyle Bolton was escorted into the cell block and locked up without incident. The other inmates gathered in the cafeteria at lunchtime, waiting for him to emerge from his cell.

Jonathan Crane slipped over to Poison Ivy, who was reading a magazine while she ate. "Pamela, I was wondering if you'd be kind enough to help me with a scheme later?"

"Aw, sounds great, but I'm busy later, Johnny," said Ivy, not looking up from her magazine. "Washing my hair, y'know."

"Oh. I see," said Crane. "Very well then." He was about to leave her alone, but then a thought came to him. "It's to show up the Joker," he added.

Ivy dropped her magazine, turning to him. "Ok, screw the hair. Whatcha got?"

"Do you think you could get close to Mr. Bolton while he's locked in here?" asked Crane. "I need some information about him which he would only reveal to someone he could trust."

"Which is?" she asked.

"I need to know what he's afraid of," said Crane. "I can make a guess based on the psychology of a man like that – he's afraid of failure, weakness, that sort of thing, but I'd really like a specific fear I can target about him. Something unique and personal."

"So you want me to seduce him and prostitute myself as a tool for you to get information," said Ivy.

"That's…the vague idea, yes," said Crane. "I mean, you don't have to actually seduce him, just get friendly with him. Tantalize him with the promise of a physical reward without ever delivering on it. I don't think he'll be able to resist you…"

"No man can resist me," snapped Ivy. "I pride myself on that fact."

She thought. "And you promise this'll show up the Joker?" she asked.

"Well, if I can reduce Bolton to a quivering mass of terror before he does, then I beat him," replied Crane. "And it would be quite a blow for a man such as him to be bested by a man such as myself."

"Yeah, it would," agreed Ivy. "It would eat him up inside, the knowledge that a pathetic, nerdy type like you could humiliate him."

"Thank you, Pamela – that does wonders for my self-confidence," retorted Crane.

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with the pathetic, nerdy type," said Ivy, shrugging. "You are who you are. It's just not _my_ type. But this Bolton guy is, so you've got yourself a deal, Johnny," she said, standing up. "He's still in his cell, huh?"

"Yes, he's not unintelligent enough to think that walking into a room full of people he used to abuse would be a good idea," said Crane. "Unfortunately."

"Leave it to me," said Ivy. standing up. "Though maybe I should be trying to win this contest myself – I've turned a lotta men into begging, pleading masses, if you know what I mean."

"Erm…no, I'm not sure I do," said Crane, slowly. "You mean in your environmental crusades?"

Ivy sighed, rolling her eyes. "I mean withholding sex, but never mind. At least J would have got the joke," she muttered, heading for the door.

She found Bolton sitting in his cell at the end of the cell block, staring at the ground and smiling faintly, as if he could see some far off future of perfect order.

"Hey," said Ivy, draping herself over the bars. "You're new in here, aren't you?"

He didn't respond, and Ivy frowned. "Y'know, it's rude to ignore a lady, pal."

"You ain't a lady," growled Bolton, looking up at her. "You're a piece of criminal scum, just like everyone else in here."

"So like you then?" she asked.

"Crime isn't crime if it's for the greater good," snapped Bolton.

"I agree," said Ivy, nodding. "And the greater good would be to eradicate most of humanity from the planet. They just destroy it. I've tried to get Batman to see that he'd have his precious peace and order if we just eradicated the only creatures who make war and chaos."

"Also the only creatures with a brain to do that," muttered Bolton. "You can't question human dominance over the earth. That's the way things are, and the way they should be. Human dominance, not these animals locked up in here."

"I agree," repeated Ivy, coldly. "So you don't like things without brains, huh? Scared of zombies?"

"I'm not scared of anything that doesn't exist," he snapped.

"Could you be a little more specific?" asked Ivy.

"Oooh, trying to entice a little bondage with Lock-Up?" chuckled a familiar voice. "You know he's gotta be into that whips and chains stuff!"

"Why don't you beat it, J?" demanded Ivy, rounding on the Joker.

"Why should I?" he retorted. "It's a free cell block. Though that's kinda an oxymoron, huh?" he chuckled.

"_You're_ an oxymoron!" snapped Ivy.

"Aw, I take it by your mood that the seducing ain't going well!" chuckled Joker. "Well, maybe he just doesn't swing that way, Plant Lady. I mean, a guy obsessed with working out, getting his kicks disciplining other men, it sets off some alarm bells, doesn't it?"

"So what, you're here to seduce him?" asked Ivy, sarcastically.

Joker snorted. "He wishes! I just wanna see how he's doing in here, and if I can get our new pal anything to make him feel more at home," said Joker, smiling at Bolton.

"I don't want anything from you, clown," growled Bolton. "Or any of you freaks. Just get lost before I call the guards."

"Don't think they follow your orders now, sport!" chuckled Joker. "There's a pecking order here among the inmates at Arkham, and you are the bottom of the barrel at the moment. Lower than Nygma. That must smart."

"Nothing you freaks can say or do can bother me," snapped Bolton. "I know I'm better than all of you. And nothing anybody can say or do will distract me from my purpose, and the justice of my crusade."

"Challenge accepted, sport!" chuckled Joker. "Oh, we're gonna have some fun, just you wait and see! There's gonna be a smile on that miserable face before you know it, or my name ain't the Joker!"

"Joker, Pamela, stop tormenting the new patient," snapped Dr. Leland, entering the cell block at that moment. "He's needed in therapy."

She gestured to the guards accompanying her, who unlocked Bolton's cell.

He was on his feet instantly, knocking the guards out of the way and rushing at Dr. Leland. He struck her across the face, knocking her back, as he roared, "I don't need your therapy, Doctor! You're the problem! You're too soft on these monsters, and you allow their madness to spread! You're the one who hired the clown slut as a doctor here, and look how she turned out!"

He would have no doubt continued his rant and his attack, when he was suddenly punched in the back of the head. He whirled around furiously to see the Joker with his fist raised.

"Never hit a lady," he snapped. "That's my job."

Bolton roared, rushing at him, when Joker shot his hand out, seizing Bolton's arm and sending a powerful electric shot through him. Bolton fell the ground, writhing, as Joker carefully slid the joy buzzer off his glove.

"Joker…you're not supposed to have that in here," growled Dr. Leland, recovering herself.

"You're welcome, Doc!" chuckled Joker. "No need to thank me – it was just a little payback for the way he used to electrify the doors."

"Get him to the medical wing," snapped Dr. Leland, gesturing at the guards. "We'll have to postpone therapy. I would appreciate in future, Joker, if you didn't inflict pain and suffering on your fellow inmates."

"Good gag, Doc!" chuckled Joker. "I'll sure not do that!"

Dr. Leland sighed. "And thank you," she snapped, following the guards who carried Bolton out of the cell block.

Ivy returned to the cafeteria. "How did it go?" asked Crane, eagerly.

"Round one to the Joker," she sighed. "He electrocuted Bolton when he attacked Dr. Leland."

"Damn him!" growled Crane.

"Relax, Johnny," said Ivy, shrugging. "J may have won the first battle, but he's gonna lose the war. I guarantee it."


	9. Chapter 9

The next day, Bolton was released from the infirmary and required to spend some supervised time among the other inmates at lunch. He took a seat in the cafeteria and was immediately surrounded on either side by the Joker and Poison Ivy.

"How ya doing today, buddy?" asked Joker, putting an arm around Bolton's shoulder.

"Don't touch me, freak!" snapped Bolton, shoving him away. "And same goes for you, freak!" he snapped, as Ivy attempted to slide a hand up his chest. "Just leave me alone!"

"Now, that's not a very friendly attitude, is it?" asked Joker. "And we're all friends in here, isn't that right, Pammie?"

"No," snapped Ivy. "Mostly we hate each other's guts. So he'll fit right in."

"And speaking of people who hate your guts, heeeeere's Johnny!" exclaimed Joker, as Crane took a seat across from them. He said nothing, just glared at Bolton with a look that, if looks could kill, would have had Bolton dead and buried in an instant.

Bolton glared back at him in equal hatred. "It's a sick world we live in," Bolton muttered, tucking into his food. "When a guy like me, who's just trying to keep criminals locked away, ends up locked up with the rest of them. Especially this bunch of deranged, pathetic lunatics. A society that thinks people like me are equal to the rest of you nutjobs, particularly some weak, scrawny little nobody like Crane."

"Not to tarnish your worldview, but it may interest you to know that might is not always right," snapped Crane. "And that the strong should not brutalize the weak and defenseless."

"Why not?" demanded Bolton. "If the weak aren't man enough to defend themselves."

"Because one day the weak will rise up," murmured Crane. "And use their brains to outsmart your brawn. And make you pay. It's people like you who created the Scarecrow, you know. People who just had to inflict misery on people who were weaker than them, who had some irresistible compulsion to inflict pain and suffering on their fellow men. For no reason."

"Oh, there's a reason," retorted Bolton. "Because that's the only way scum can be kept in line. You were bullied, were you, Crane? Good. You got what you deserved. Because you are, and probably always were, a disgusting freak, a weak, pathetic little troublemaker who always had to be so special, who couldn't just stay in line like everyone else. You probably had to show off, the way you do now, with your brains and your fear toxin. People like you make me sick. You're not special. And you shouldn't be proud of being the freak you are. You should be beaten for it, and ostracized, and excluded, because you're sick and disgusting. Your kind of behavior shouldn't be encouraged, it should be stamped out. And the same goes for the rest of you in here. We live in a society that tells people it's ok to be freaks and weirdos. But it's not. If we want a peaceful society of decent people, we all need to stay in line and follow the rules and not wanna be different or special. And those of you who are freaks need to conceal your freakish natures, for the greater good. Or you need to be punished until you do."

"You remind me very much of my father," said Crane, with a forced smile. "Except he was more intelligent than you. He was an academic, a cold, logical, intellectual man who kept his feelings and emotions at a distance, even when his son came home beaten and bloodied. He saw it as a very rational consequence of some irrational behavior, and he believed if I could pinpoint that behavior and fix it, I would magically stop being bullied. How little he understood the irrationality of humanity, the unthinking, brutish need to hurt and destroy whoever is different, whoever doesn't fit precisely in their neat little boxes. Even if there was no discernible reason for it, a look, a mannerism, an air, something that couldn't be defined. But of course you can't tell a rational, intelligent man that there is no reason or definition for something – his job is to find one. He told me to try harder. But in the end, I discovered that the people who bully aren't intelligent enough to have reasons. They just follow their brutish instincts, to hurt and isolate the weak and the different. And I couldn't change that about myself. I couldn't change my appearance, or the way I was built, or even fundamentally who I was. And that was somebody who was different. It wasn't a choice that I made, and there was nothing I could do to change it, no matter how I tried. I spent years loathing myself, hating myself, harming myself because I felt that it was my own fault I was different and alone. But it wasn't. It was theirs. And yours. Everyone like you. Everyone who deserves to suffer now for what they put me through. And you will, Mr. Bolton. You will," he said, quietly.

Bolton snorted. "I'm not afraid of you, Crane," he snapped.

Crane smiled thinly. "You will be, Mr. Bolton, I assure you. You will be."

"While we're on the subject, Lyle," said Ivy. "Can I call you Lyle?"

"No," retorted Bolton.

"Well, Lyle, what kinda things are you afraid of?" asked Ivy, casually. "Snakes? Scorpions?"

"Johnny in a thong?" suggested Joker, chuckling.

"I'm not afraid of anything," retorted Bolton. "I'm ex-military – I've done and seen things that would scar even you freaks. Fear was beaten outta us in training. They knew that would man us up."

"Ex-military?" repeated Crane. "And where did you serve?"

"None of your business," retorted Bolton. "But I was out there serving my country while scum like you were here trying to destroy it. And still they stick me in here with you freaks."

He took a drink from his glass and coughed suddenly. "Aw, little water went down the wrong tube, huh?" chuckled Joker, grinning. "Don't you worry, buddy – I got you!"

He began punching Bolton on the back as he continued choking, and at last spat out a shard of broken glass. "Oh my God, you put glass in my drink!" he roared at Joker. "I think I'm bleeding!"

He continued coughing, spitting out flecks of blood, and was immediately rushed to the infirmary by the guards. Joker chuckled, picking up the drink and swirling around the now visible shards of glass. "Easy as pie!" he giggled. "That's two for me, I think, Johnny."

"You haven't broken him – you've just hurt and annoyed him," snapped Crane. "Believe me, the final victory will be mine. Pamela, could I have a word?" he asked, beckoning her over to a private corner.

"We need to change tactics," he said. "Mr. Bolton is obviously not tempted by your charms for whatever reason. But I could use your help in another way."

"What way?" asked Ivy.

"Could you distract Dr. Leland while I break into her office?" he asked. "I want some information from Mr. Bolton's file."

"You think she's written down what he's afraid of?" asked Ivy.

"No," he said. "But I want details about his military service. He used the phrase 'ex-military' rather than 'former military,'" murmured Crane. "Which seems odd from a man who served in the military – former would imply some sort of honorable discharge or retirement. While ex…is an ugly word, with ugly implications."

"Yeah, I've got my share of exes to prove that," agreed Ivy. "I've got my therapy session with Dr. Leland at three. If you can sneak outta the cell block then, that'll give you an hour to search uninterrupted."

"That should be more than enough time," said Crane.

And it was. It was a simple matter to sneak out of the cell block – since Bolton's departure, security at Arkham had gone back to its usual lax state. Crane slipped down the wing of offices unnoticed and entered Dr. Leland's office, heading over to the filing cabinet. He rummaged around until he found Bolton's file, and then flipped it open, skim reading the information. And a slow, triumphant smile formed on his face.

"I have you now," he murmured, shutting the file and replacing it. He didn't stop smiling all the way back to his cell.


	10. Chapter 10

"Are you not going to eat that?" asked Crane at dinner, as Poison Ivy finished her meal and stood up. He was pointing to her tray, which had a generous helping of fresh fruit still on it.

"No, I morally object to eating plants, as you know, but they insist on serving me them," retorted Ivy. "I admit fruit can be a gray area – plants intend fruit to be eaten so that animals can spread the plant seed through their fecal matter, but I still don't like the idea of eating a plant's offspring. So better safe than sorry. Do you want it?"

"Yes," said Crane, grabbing the tray from her.

"Why, when you haven't even eaten yours?" she asked, pointing at the pile of fruit on his tray, which he now scraped hers onto.

"I just need it," he said. "Though frankly I'd prefer leftover meat…"

"You want some fish?" asked Harley, who had isolated all her other food from the slab of fish on her plate, glaring at it in disgust. "I hate fish."

"Yes, please," said Crane, spearing it onto his plate. "Thank you, Harley."

"You storing up food for a nuclear winter or something?" asked Joker, downing his drink. "Because all that crap you got is gonna spoil pretty quick, genius."

"Yes, I know," retorted Crane. "That's exactly what I want."

Joker shrugged. "Ok, I don't judge. You eat rotten food if you wanna. But should those of us who don't like rotten food be worried and stockpiling? You know something we don't? They're making a plan to starve us, aren't they?"

"It's none of your business what I know," retorted Crane, scraping all the food together into a pile on his plate.

Two-Face sat next to him, scratching the bad side of his face. "You ok, Harvey?" asked Ivy.

"Yeah, that scab I got on vacation is finally about to fall off," he replied. "Goddamn mosquitoes."

"Sure, it was the mosquitoes, Harv!" chuckled Joker. "And not Pammie's nails!"

"Do you want the scab?" asked Crane, eagerly.

Two-Face stared at him. "Uh…do you?" he asked, slowly.

"Yes, please," said Crane, cupping his hands under his face.

"O…K," said Two-Face, slowly. "Uh…here. Knock yourself out."

"Thank you all very much," said Crane, placing the scab on top of the food and then carrying his tray out of the cafeteria.

"I think Johnny's lost it," commented Ivy.

"Yeah, losing to me twice was probably the final straw for him in a lifetime of being a loser!" chuckled Joker. "And now he's just snapped!"

"Poor Johnny," sighed Harley. "You should let him win, Mr. J – Bolton hurt him a lot more than he hurt you. Or even me. It's only fair that he gets revenge."

"It's the principle of the thing, Harley," retorted Joker. "This is my asylum – I'm the king here. And when upstarts like Bolton start causing trouble in my asylum, I've gotta teach him a lesson. If someone else does it, it undermines my authority as king of Arkham."

"You're not king of Arkham," retorted Ivy. "This is an asylum for the mentally ill, not a kingdom. And you're certainly not in charge. Dr. Leland is if anyone is."

"Yeah, but she's a woman, so she's the queen of Arkham," retorted Joker.

"If you're the king, _I'm _your queen!" snapped Harley.

"No, you're Daddy's little princess, pooh," he said, kissing her nose.

"Oh. Well, I can't object to that," she said, smiling and cuddling against him.

"Anyway, this whole place is like a testament to me," continued Joker. "Who's the one who keeps making 'em hire new staff and doctors by killing the ones I don't like? Me. Who's the one who's busted outta here the most, making them spend billions of dollars on new security measures? Me. And who's the one who's put this Bolton jerk in his place from the moment I arrived back in my kingdom? Me. So yeah, I'm pretty much in charge here, therefore king of Arkham. Or Emperor, if you prefer – I prefer Emperor Joker, I think. Has a really nice ring to it. So you can all bow down and worship me however you like!" he chuckled.

"I know how I wanna worship you, puddin'," purred Harley. "On my knees, if you get what I'm saying."

"I'm heading back to my cell before I throw up," muttered Ivy, standing up and leaving the room. She passed Crane's cell on the way, and saw him spreading the food around the floor of his cell, whistling cheerfully.

"Johnny? You ok?" she asked, slowly.

"I'm excellent, Pamela – never felt better!" he replied, smiling at her. "Thank you for asking."

"Ok. You're just acting a little…odd," said Ivy, slowly.

"There's a method to my madness, dear lady, never fear," said Crane, as he continued to spread the food into corners. "There's a…"

He trailed off with a triumphant cry, reaching his hand into a hole in his cell's floor and pulling out a dead rat. "Well, look at that! A nice, fat dead rat! What a stroke of fortune! This is clearly my lucky day!" he exclaimed, placing the body on the floor next to the food as he continued whistling.

Ivy just looked at him and then turned to go without saying a word. "Well, at least he's already in the nuthouse," she muttered to herself.


	11. Chapter 11

Lyle Bolton was released from the infirmary a few days later and returned to his cell. As he was escorted into the cell block, he was immediately assaulted by a horrible stench.

"What the hell is that smell?" he demanded of the guards.

"Some science experiment Crane's doing," retorted the guard. "The other inmates have complained, but Dr. Leland says Crane seems very unstable at the moment and she doesn't want him to have a complete breakdown, which seemed likely when she told him to clean up his cell. But there's rotten food and dead rats and God knows what else in there."

"Sick freak," muttered Bolton. He entered his cell, and the guards left, slamming and locking the door behind him.

Bolton sat down on his bed, staring at the wall and considering the injustice of his circumstances – a man who had only tried to do good, and justly punish the scum of humanity, now forced to share spaces and smells with them, he thought, wrinkling his nose. It was grossly unfair. He should have beat that pathetic weakling Crane to death when he had the chance, and blamed it on an accident. Then he wouldn't have to put up with this stink now. What could the sick freak be doing in there? He didn't like to speculate, and it wasn't likely that Crane had a reason – he was utterly mad. Yes, he should have rid the world of that particular piece of scum a long time ago…

He suddenly noticed that the bed was moving slightly underneath him. Puzzled, he stood up and lifted up the covers…and instantly started back with a cry.

The bed's mattress had been completely covered in maggots, writhing and squirming so much that the mattress itself appeared to be moving. Bolton backed away from the bed, his heart racing, as he leaned against the wall…

And felt something drop onto his head and fall to the floor. He looked down to see that a pile of maggots was forming there – glancing up, he saw that they were dropping through the vent above him, more and more of them, in a seething, writhing mass…

He began panting in terror, looking around for some place that would be safe from them. But a glance at the sink showed that it too was swarming with maggots. Bolton backed against the bars, sweat pouring off him as he gripped them tightly…and then felt them writhe in his grip.

With a shriek, he tore his hands away from the maggots crawling up and down the bars. "Oh, come, come, Mr. Bolton," said a familiar voice. "They're harmless."

Bolton looked up to see Crane standing next to the bars of his cell. Crane reached through the bars toward Bolton, opening his fist to reveal more maggots in the palm of his hand.

"No!" gasped Bolton, falling backward and panicking – there was no escape from the squirming, seething devourers of rotting flesh. He was trapped in a little box, and they were surrounding him, suffocating him, consuming him…

"No, no, no!" he cried, looking around wildly in terror. "Keep them away!"

"But they're harmless creatures, really," said Crane, smiling at him. "No need to be afraid of them."

"I'm…I'm not afraid," gasped Bolton. "I'm not afraid…of anything…"

"Oh, but you are," whispered Crane, dropping the maggots at his feet. Bolton leapt back with a scream.

"Wanted to join the Marine Corps, didn't you?" said Crane, quietly. "That was the most challenging branch of the armed forces, and you wanted a challenge. To prove yourself a man. And you did, except for that pesky little survival training bit, where you had to learn to survive on insect larvae. That thought repulsed you, and even though you tried to overcome it, your irrational mind rebelled against you. You were always scared of insects, ever since you were a boy and found the carcass of your beloved pet dog in the street being devoured by maggots. You were ashamed of your fear, but you couldn't control it. But you endured it, you passed the course, and shortly after you were deployed. And soon that survival training came in very handy, when you were wounded, and separated from your medical supplies. Your comrades knew the wound would fester, so they did what they were trained to do – they found some maggots and let them devour your wounded flesh, so that it would not become infected. But rather than be grateful for this quick thinking, you began raging and panicking, ripping the maggots out of your skin and threatening to kill your comrades if they tried to do anything like that again. You were raving, completely unstable, mad with fear. And when your commanding officer insisted that they keep treating the wound with maggots, for your own good, you attacked him. You were dishonorably discharged from the Marine Corps on your return home, all because of your little irrational fear of these harmless, useful little creatures. Ironic, isn't it? That a strong, brave man, a former Marine, would lose everything because he feared something tiny and small and weak."

Bolton wasn't listening – he was looking around the cell for some way of escape, for some corner that was free of the writhing masses. But there was no way out, and nowhere safe. His panic became blind and desperate.

"Let me out!" he pleaded. "Get me away from them! Please!"

"Oh, there's no escaping them, Mr. Bolton," murmured Crane. "Even if you could leave your cell, I have plenty more spread throughout the asylum. I managed to catch quite a few with the rotting food and the rotting flesh, of course."

He ran his hands down the bars, sending several maggots dropping to the ground. "There's no escape from them ever, Mr. Bolton," he murmured. "We will all die one day. And then do you know what will consume our bodies? These tiny, weak, little creatures that you devoured for your training. You will be buried with them in a tiny box six feet underground, they will swarm you, and they will devour you. And there will be nothing of you left at all."

Bolton lost all sense at that moment. He began screaming wildly, curling up and trying to shield himself from the sight of the maggots everywhere. His desperate shrieks attracted the attention of the other inmates as well as the guards, who found Bolton curled up on the floor, shaking in terror and babbling.

"What the hell did you do to him, Johnny?" asked Ivy as she watched the guards struggle to drag him away, still screaming and shaking.

"I broke him," murmured Crane, smiling smugly. "I won, Joker."

Joker glared at him, and then shrugged. "Well, it was a stupid bet anyway. You didn't really win anything. And to be honest, I wasn't trying my hardest."

"Well, even a meaningless victory is a victory nonetheless," said Crane. "And there is something like poetic justice in a man such as Bolton being broken by such small, pathetic creatures."

"Does that mean you're gonna clean out your cell now?" asked Ivy. "Because the smell wasn't really worth it."

"Yeah, it was," said Harley. "To see Bolton like that was worth anything."

She hugged Crane, kissing his cheek. "You did a great job, Johnny," she said, beaming at him. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, Harley," he said. "I must say, I've only felt this elated once before in my life."

"When was that? When you got your first girlfriend? Oh wait, still waiting on that one!" chuckled Joker.

Crane ignored him – the Joker's petty insults couldn't get him down today, and he knew he was only throwing them out now because he was angry that he lost.

He returned to his cell and began cleaning up, spraying copious amounts of air freshener around and remembering…

_Richard held Crane against his locker, striking him a blow to the cheek. Crane glared up at him, blood dripping down his face._

"_Don't hit me again," he whispered, quietly._

"_What's that?" said Richard._

"_I said don't hit me again," repeated Crane, firmly._

_Richard laughed mockingly. "Oh, this is rich! The pathetic wuss thinks he has a spine now, does he? Thinks he's gonna be brave? I'll do what I wanna do to you, Crane, as always," he growled, punching him again. "Because there's nothing a weak little loser like you can do about it…"_

_Richard howled in pain suddenly as Crane unsheathed a knife, slicing the blade across his face, above his eye. Richard released Crane, dropping him to the ground, as he fell to his knees and cupped his forehead, which was streaming blood. Crane climbed to his feet, standing over him, bloodied knife in hand. _

"_I told you not to hit me again," Crane whispered. _

"_What on earth is going on?" demanded the principal at that moment, rounding the corner. "Oh my God, Richard, what happened?! And Jonathan, is that a knife?!"_

_Crane didn't remember details after that – he only remembered the pure joy and happiness he felt at seeing Richard writhing in pain on the floor, as he had so many times before, and Crane standing over him as the victor, as the aggressor, for once._

_He vaguely remembered sitting in the principal's office with his parents present, and the principal explaining that Crane was not welcome back at his school after assaulting another student with a weapon. He vaguely remembered some stern lecture his parents gave him on the drive home. But all he remembered crystal clearly was that feeling of power, of victory, of happiness, at inflicting the same pain and misery and fear on the people who had inflicted those things on him. And how good it felt to inflict those things on the people who deserved it. _

"_Violence is never the answer, Jonathan!" his father had shouted._

"_Oh yes, it is, Father," murmured Crane, quietly. "Sometimes it's the only solution. It was the only way it was ever going to stop. Nothing I could do would prevent Richard from bullying me, because it wasn't my fault. It was his. He had to learn his lesson and change his behavior, not me. He was the aggressor, and he deserved to see how it felt to be a victim for once."_

"_Do you realize how much trouble you've caused?" demanded his mother. "We have to find you a new school, not to mention do everything we can to make sure that boy's parents don't sue us!"_

"_I am terribly sorry that my triumph is an inconvenience to you, Mother, as my pain always was," murmured Crane. "But I much prefer this inconvenience."_

"_Triumph?" repeated his father. "You didn't triumph! You just proved yourself a thug, and a bully, and a violent criminal! You're meant to be better than that, Jonathan! You're an intelligent boy!"_

"_Yes, Father," he agreed. "I am. And today I have become the most intelligent man who ever lived. I have mastered fear."_

And he had again today, Crane thought, as he finished cleaning up his cell. And while the smell of victory at the moment was still the vague stench of rotting food and dead rodents, to Crane at least, it was the sweetest smell in the world.

**The End**


End file.
